Reincarnation In Smallville

Shanghai – East China

The Shanghai sky seemed made of shattered glass. The dawn's light struggled against soot-laden clouds, casting a gray hue over the gleaming skyscrapers. Clark landed softly on the terrace of an abandoned building, his coat rippling in the breeze from the Huangpu River.

The city below moved in a rush, but he… did not.

The Fire Crystal glowed beneath his suit, embedded in the symbol of the House of El, like a second heartbeat in his chest.

'Jor-El.'

[Yes, Kal-El.]

'This is the place, isn't it?'

[Yes. The second Crystal – the Air Crystal – was stored at this location centuries ago.]

Clark raised his gaze.

Ahead, among the city's older buildings, stood an ancient temple, restored in the classic Chinese style. At the center of its courtyard was a stone statue – a dragon carved from jade and obsidian. The creature's eyes seemed alive, even from a distance.

Clark descended like a shadow into the silent courtyard. The sound of his footsteps faded among the stones, damp with mist.

'Is it here?'

[Yes. Inside the statue. Hidden in a chamber sealed by layers of vibration.]

Clark approached the monument. Its surface shimmered as if it were breathing. He raised his hand, gliding his fingers over the dragon's snout, feeling the energy hum beneath the stone.

'Layers of vibration… so that's all it takes?'

[You already possess what's needed to break them.]

Clark closed his eyes. The Speed Force ignited within him like a muted thunderclap. He moved his hand at super speed, creating an inverse resonance. The statue vibrated, trembled—and then, a fissure opened.

Light spilled out.

A pale green glow.

Clark reached in and slowly withdrew the object.

The Air Crystal.

Light as vapor. Yet dense as a dead star.

The artifact hovered above his palm, responding to Kal-El's touch as if it recognized his blood.

[Confirmation of bond. Air Crystal: in possession.]

Clark tucked the crystal alongside the first. Their energies merged. A gust of wind swept through the temple, extinguishing candles and rattling bells.

He stood silent for a few seconds.

Then, looking to the sky above the curved rooftops, he said:

'Now tell me where the third one is.'

Jor-El's silence lasted longer than it should have.

Clark frowned.

'Jor-El?'

[... Processing.]

'The third crystal. The Water Crystal.'

[... Location: unknown.]

Clark froze. His chest didn't move for a moment. Nor did the air around him.

'What do you mean, unknown?'

[No signal. No energy residue. No geographic echo.]

Clark stepped back, staring into the temple's emptiness.

'But… you said there were three.'

[Yes. Three crystals. Fire, Air, Water.]

'So why can't you sense the third?'

[It shouldn't be possible. The crystals were created with eternal trackers.]

'So… someone erased it?'

[It may have been destroyed. Or… concealed by technology beyond Kryptonian capabilities.]

Clark turned. The courtyard now seemed darker. The sky heavier.

'You never mentioned that possibility before.'

[Because until now, it didn't exist.]

Clark fell silent.

The city around him pulsed with life. But there, he seemed frozen.

'So… it's over.'

[No.]

'We have no more leads.'

[No, Kal-El. We simply have no more traces.]

Clark sighed.

The breeze blew stronger now, as if the world were trying to whisper an answer even the gods didn't know.

'I'm going home.'

[Do you want me to keep trying to locate it?]

Clark paused for a moment.

'Yes. But don't expect anything.'

He walked to the edge of the temple. Shanghai's sky parted through the clouds, revealing the red outline of the sun over the river.

'Whatever this third crystal is… it doesn't want to be found.'

Clark gazed at the horizon. The light touched the two crystals he carried.

A fire.

A wind.

But the water was missing. And something inside him told him there was a reason for that.

A reason he might not want to uncover.

Kent Farm – Inside the House

The scent of freshly brewed tea hung in the air like a warm veil. The kettle let out soft clicks, resting on the old wooden stove. Outside, the sound of Jonathan's hoe marked time with an almost ceremonial rhythm. But inside the kitchen, the silence was thicker than the air.

Diana stood by the window, her eyes lost in the open fields. The late afternoon light touched her face with golden fingers. There was dust on the glass, but she didn't wipe it away. She just looked.

"He hasn't called today."

Martha spoke softly. The cup in her hands trembled slightly, though her gesture was restrained. Her gaze darted and lingered, as if searching for a safe spot on the floor.

"He'll call."

"You say that like you know."

"I do."

Martha ran her fingers over her belly, an automatic gesture of someone shielding themselves with silence.

"Did you know Clark used to cry when he watched war movies?"

"He still does. Just on the inside."

The kettle clicked again. Martha stood slowly, her steps small. The weight of her pregnancy was starting to show, even if she didn't say it.

"I'm scared, Diana."

"I know you are."

"Not of what he is. I've accepted that. I'm scared… of what he might stop being."

Diana turned. Her gaze carried weight but also something gentle. A strength forged over centuries.

"Clark hasn't lost himself, Martha."

"He killed someone."

"It was necessary."

Martha's hand slammed onto the table, the sharp sound echoing like a comma between sentences.

"You talk like it's normal."

"Because sometimes it is."

"You want me to accept that?"

"No."

Diana stepped closer. The window's light now touched both of them, dividing shadow and warmth.

"But I want you to understand."

Martha held her gaze. The lines around her eyes seemed deeper that day. Not from age. But from waiting.

"Understanding doesn't make it hurt less."

"No. But it keeps you from hating him for it."

"I could never hate my son."

"But you could stop recognizing him."

The words lingered too long.

The kettle cooled slowly.

Martha sat back down, her hands clasped in her lap.

"You love him, don't you?"

"With every part of who I am."

"Even so… you accept that he kills?"

"If it's for the lives of the innocent? Yes."

"Have you ever had to do it?"

"More times than I can count."

Martha stared at her. Not with judgment. But with the weight of someone who knew what it meant to kill to protect.

"Didn't that change you?"

"It shaped me. It taught me where to stop."

"Do you think Clark knows where to stop?"

"If he doesn't, I'll teach him."

Martha closed her eyes for a moment. Her breathing was slow but tense.

"You talk like a warrior."

"Because I am."

"But he's my son."

"He is. And he's mine too."

The silence this time was shorter. Denser.

Diana sat across from her, her posture still upright but her eyes softened.

"He's not alone, Martha. No matter how much he changes, how much he learns, or how many hard choices he has to make… he has you. And he has me."

"But I can't follow him."

"I can."

"That scares me."

"I know."

The late afternoon light grew more golden. The dust in the air danced slowly.

"Do you think he'll come back different?"

"We all come back different after facing the world."

"But will he still be my son?"

"He'll be more than that."

Martha smiled. A small, exhausted smile. But there was something there—like a flower blooming between stones.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For looking after him. For being with him when I can't."

"It's my promise. And my duty."

"Do you miss your mother?"

Diana blinked. The question came like a blade hidden in flowers.

"Every day."

"Then you know what it's like to see someone you love become something you no longer understand."

"But I also know that… it doesn't stop the love. Or the hope."

Martha looked at the window. Jonathan was still working, his figure small against the field.

"If he ever crosses the line…"

"I'll be there."

"To stop him?"

"To remind him who he is."

The two fell silent.

The tea in the kettle cooled.

But in the air between them, something warmed slowly. A bond.

Not of perfect understanding.

But of acceptance.

And that was enough.

For now.

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